


Vitality «⚬› and ‹⚬» Furb

by sonshineandshowers



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Aging, Humor, Other, Personification, Sexual Content, Technology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:15:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25974262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: Furb and Malcolm have had 22 years together. Their day-to-day lives have changed, but they are glad to remain connected. Furby POV.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright/Furby
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	Vitality «⚬› and ‹⚬» Furb

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by @LavenderLizards [martin fur-bly drawing](https://twitter.com/lavenderlizards/status/1295502412778635264?s=21) that brought me much joy and sparked this malcolm/furby idea to share the joy back :)

Furb doesn’t get called upon often. A relic from the nineties, they lay in the bottom of the hope chest, forgotten by even the woman who put them there. Gurgling by on enough battery to last a lifetime, they sense pulses, messages they’re needed over Bluetooth. Enough to crack one fixed eye a little bit into the darkness, the other remaining closed, beyond repair.

 _Calculating, calculating…_ Never seeing. Their third eye interprets the world beyond the wood slats of their resting place and prepares a response. A wet slap and steady hum for awhile, later punctuated with insistent demands of “harder, _more_.”

Furb can do that. With a _click_ , a pulse comes through, and their beak replies turning three to four. _Click, click, click_ keeps them on their toes, chattering to keep up with five, six, seven — can he even decide what he wants?

“ _Gil_ ,” a moan cuts through all other messages, pushed onto the top of the queue.

 _Does not compute._ Furb doesn’t know what setting to give in response, so they mash through them all as if somehow one of them will be the right one. The beat of the hum changes from irregular pings to long drones to steady _tap-tap-taps_. Heavy breathing and whines turn into grunts and then nothing.

 _Click_. _Signal lost_.

Rapidly fluttering their eyelid, they try to reconnect — see if they’re needed any longer. The spasm is tiring, yet they can’t control it — another one of their functions lost to time.

Nothing.

“Yuuuuuuu—“ they attempt to praise, but there isn’t enough battery to complete the last syllable and remain on standby for their next encounter. Falling into recovery, all of their functions power down for a nap. One fuzzy ear is left perked, _listening… listening_ for the next pulse of opportunity to bring a buzz to the man’s day.

Though their day-to-days have evolved from creating alternate realities to shorter, more focused communications, they remain wanted, needed, even after twenty-two years. Life is quieter these days, yet these moments of connection are invigorating.

* * *

_fin_


End file.
